At first the mother stands in the place of God to her child, and
is all the world to him. But if she be a praying mother, the child will
very early discover that, like himself, she too is a helpless,
dependent, needy creature, and he will learn to trust in that great
Being whom his mother adores.
Perhaps she has been in the habit, when her child was drawing its
nutriment from her breast, to feel more than at any other time her
responsibility to the little helpless being who is a part of herself,
and especially to "train it up in the way it should go." And she will
usually improve this opportunity to commune with her God, saying with
more solemn importunity, day by day, "How shall I order thee, child?"
She feels the need of more wisdom, for she now begins to realize that
her arms will not always encircle her child, and if they could, she
could not ward off the arrows of disease and death. She thinks too of
the period as near when it will be more out from under her scrutinizing
watch, and will be more exposed to temptations from without and from
within. Perhaps, too, she may die early, and then who will feel for her
child, who will train it, who will consecrate it to God as sedulously as
she hopes to do? O, if she could be certain of its eternal well-being.
She eagerly inquires, "Is there any way by which my child can be so
instructed, so consecrated, that I may be absolutely certain that I
shall meet him, a ransomed soul, and dwell with him forever among the
blessed in heaven?" "Yes, there is.
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